


Courage

by baybetime



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baybetime/pseuds/baybetime
Summary: Gilbert is a good correspondent. Lovino is not a good correspondent, but makes up for it with an impassioned drunk love letter.
Relationships: Austria/Spain (Hetalia), Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Courage

**Author's Note:**

> May I offer you some historical Prumano in these trying times?  
> This started out as a conversation with the bf about how terrible it would be to live in the 18th century & write your beloved a long, detailed letter full of questions, only to receive a response two months later that just read "yes." To which he said, "Romano."  
> And by historical, I mean the only research that went into this was a vague memory of my high school world history education and a lot of yearning. Any timeline inaccuracies and whatnot are completely unintentional.

Gilbert’s hands shook as he broke the dark seal of a letter, and tried not to feel the full extent of his disappointment when he unfolded the page and saw: two brief paragraphs. Lovino’s handwriting - large and unbroken - was a comfort, regardless, so he sat down and tilted the paper so that it caught the candlelight a little better. There was no greeting, and no moniker. There never had been. Like Lovino was in a rush to write.

_ Fucking presumptuous of you, to just assume I don’t have better things to do than visit Spain. He’s been a pain in the ass ever since I started living with my brother (more so than usual). But I guess Feliciano can’t make it, and it’s supposedly important, so I’ll be there. _

_ Suppose I’ll see you then, and I’ll bring those books you lent me in order to return them. I already know you’re going to ask what I thought, so I’ll just say I found them flowery and dull. You’re too attached to the classics. _

_ -LV _

Gilbert let out a deep breath. Read it again. Read the second paragraph, then the first. Next month. He would be seeing Lovino again next month, and finally have a little more than these infuriatingly curt messages, fragments of conversations. Again he could enjoy the sweeping of Lovino’s hands, and radiance of his abrasive nature, and the open quality of his eyes. And maybe this time, he could manage to admit a fraction of how he felt. Out loud.

Or maybe he could just lend Lovino another book.

Two weeks later, there was a new letter on Gilbert’s desk, and for a moment he just stood there with his coat in his hand and blinked at it. Unprompted follow-ups from Lovino were unheard of, but there was no mistaking the V of the wax seal. What’s more - there were not one, not two, but  _ three pages _ folded hastily unto themselves, and Gilbert’s heart  _ squeezed  _ and his head pounded and he wondered if maybe Italy had fallen into mutiny somehow without his knowledge - because what else would Lovino have  _ pages  _ to write about?

He approached the letter slowly. It was late, and the light was low, and maybe he had mistaken the red of the seal. But he was soon standing with his hands on the edge of his desk and the color was achingly familiar, and Gilbert’s mind was franctic with guesses as to what the contents of the message might be, and  _ fuck,  _ he really had to read it now, or else spend the whole evening torturing himself with possibilities. 

It struck him first that Lovino’s handwriting seemed different. It was sloppier than usual, more slanted - large in some places and small in others. There were small ink blots dotting the page, and several mistakes scratched out messily. It took Gilbert much too long to decipher the first few sentences, but when he did, his heart stuttered, then stopped. And soared.

_ Gilbert. _

_ I wish you had the fucking courage to kiss me. _

When Gilbert saw Lovino in the following week, he wanted so badly to touch him, except Antonio’s hand was planted firmly on one of the boy’s shoulders, so he bit his tongue and smiled at the two of them placidly. Roderich was saying something and looking stiff, like laundry that hadn’t been properly rinsed.

Antonio looked stiff, too. His usual smile was tight and his eyes were narrow. His wedding band was nearly the same deep color as his skin. He kept glancing at Roderich and half-nodding at every other word.

And then there was Lovino, who was dressed in rich colors and looking very much like he wanted to be elsewhere. Both of his small hands clutched hard at Gilbert’s books. They made eye contact, and for a moment, all of Gilbert’s confidence vanished, and the letter ceased to exist, and there was just this heated glance between them - and then Roderich was addressing Gilbert directly, and he was forced to look away.

“Yes, um, Ludwig has been very well. He’s growing quickly.” It was true, but the mention of Gilbert’s brother made his head sort of heavy with politics and uncertainty. Nationalism was on the rise in Germany.

“Yes, I was hoping to speak with you about him. We’re thinking of a solution that may help with any unruliness…” Lovino scoffed audibly at Roderich’s words, and Gilbert caught the sight of amber eyes rolling up to the ceiling. And then they were looking at each other again. And Gilbert was thinking about the letter.

Was Lovino thinking about it? He had to be.

_ I think about you every damned day, and every night. I want you to look at me the way you do sometimes, like I’m something worth having. _

Gilbert swallowed. He  _ had  _ to be.

And then Roderich said “Right, I’ll do it then,” and he nodded and Antonio nodded and then they left the room. And so Lovino and Gilbert were alone. Gilbert stared, and tried to make his legs work or his mouth move.

Lovino was frowning at him. “You’re looking at me weird.”

Gilbert licked his lips, became aware that his palms were sweaty. “Am I?”

Lovino came towards  _ him,  _ took one hand off the books to raise to Gilbert’s forehead. “You’re all flushed. Are you sick or something?” 

_ You make me feel helpless and feverish and I hate that I like it. _

“Lovino.”

Lovino moved his hand away and glared expectantly. “Prussia.”

Gilbert struck forward and kissed him.

Lovino squawked. “What the  _ fuck! _ ” But his mouth was muffled by Gilbert’s, so it came out far less intelligible than he probably would have liked. Gilbert’s head spun at the contact, and the feeling of Lovino’s breath on his chin, and then his brain caught up with the fact that Lovino was sputtering like an indignant cat and,  _ shit,  _ that probably wasn’t good.

“ _ What _ is - you,  _ you can’t just _ \- you! You shouldn’t -” Lovino’s eyes were impossibly wide, and he had taken a step back, but not any further.

“Sorry,” Gilbert interrupted.

Lovino took a shuddering breath and looked back at him. “It’s…”

They were moving closer again. Gilbert wanted to reach out and touch Lovino’s side, but that seemed like a poor choice when Lovino hadn’t actually told him he was off the hook yet. But oh, their breathing began to match, and Lovino had closed his mouth slightly, only to part his lips again…

Gilbert moved close enough to kiss Lovino’s cheek, and pulled back to look at him seriously. Lovino had become very red.

“That letter,” Gilbert began.

Lovino’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“In the letter you sent me, you said…” Gilbert faltered again, thinking about it. Lovino had said a lot of things.

“I said…” Lovino was frowning deeply now, and he glanced down, at his hands. “Your books?”

“No, the other letter,” Gilbert said impatiently, and tried to paraphrase without sounding like he’d memorized the damn thing: “When you said, um, that you wanted me to, you know…” Lovino’s face had morphed into a distinct, dawning horror, “...Kiss you.”

“I said  _ what?” _

At this point, Gilbert became very confused. “I got a letter from you two weeks ago, and…” he trailed off. Lovino had become an almost unhealthy color.

“I, I…” he stuttered, and took one, two steps backwards, “Feli and I got very drunk, and I wrote,” he paused for a breath that sounded like a gasp, “...But I never thought I would actually  _ send  _ it to you.”

Well. Gilbert felt his ears burn, for some reason. Embarrassment on Lovino’s behalf, perhaps. “I got it.”

“I realize that, stupid.” Lovino ducked his head down so that Gilbert couldn’t see his eyes, and Gilbert realized it was up to him to remedy the situation. He moved forwards, enough to take the books from Lovino’s, but not too close for comfort. 

“Thank you for, um, taking care of these. I’m sorry you didn't like them.”

And then Lovino laughed. It was choked, sort of, and maybe a little forced, but it was a laugh nonetheless. He raised his eyes to Gilbert’s, and though his face was still flushed, he seemed amused at Gilbert’s antics. Gilbert pursed his lips, looking at him, and Lovino’s gaze didn’t shy away. He reached out slowly and put his hand on Lovino’s waist, drawing him in.

They jumped apart at the sound of footsteps outside the room, loud ones - Spain was never as graceful as his spouse. He and Roderich walked back into the drawing room with grim expressions, and didn’t seem to notice the color of Lovino’s cheeks.

Well, Roderich didn’t. Antonio was glancing fervently between Lovino and Gilbert with narrowed eyes. Gilbert ran a hand through his hair and willed himself to not look sweaty. Roderich was holding an impressive stack of papers, talking at length about Germany and Republicans and treaties, and it was as if someone had opened a window and let a bird fly out. Gilbert let out a breath, and paid attention.


End file.
